


Burn Your Worries Away

by acidicshortcake



Series: Kinktober 2k19 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aftercare, Dom/sub Undertones, Erotic Fire Play, Kinda, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Temperature Play, rather it's kink that doesn't lead to sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 20:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidicshortcake/pseuds/acidicshortcake
Summary: Felix is stressed. Sylvain uses the magic he's learned to help with that.Written for Kinktober 2k19. [ Day 3 - Temperature Play ]





	Burn Your Worries Away

**Author's Note:**

> i can't in good conscious tag this dom/sub when felix hugo fraldarius doesn't realize that's exactly what he's doing. 
> 
> of note: this is somewhat based on actual fire play using fire gloves. except, y'know. we have magic instead.

Felix glares as the sensation of warmth dances down his chest. Annoyingly skillful fingertips draw circles and faux sigils, waltzing over sensitive stretches of skin and forcing him to squirm in his bindings; it’s not what he’s here for and Sylvain knows it, but he’s annoyingly drawing things out anyways. As usual. 

“Get on with it,” he snaps, though he finds himself a bit more breathless than he’d like. It only adds to the frustration of Sylvain playing him like he’s some sort of toy, being so masterful that Felix can’t even keep up with the technique. He hates it; it sends a thrill down his spine.

Sylvain chuckles against his clavicle, drawing another set of spirals over Felix’s chest, crossing over nipples. “Relax—I’ve got you. I know what I’m doing.”   
Felix wants to growl, but instead he grumbles, placated in the oddest of ways despite still being petulant, “Stop making me wait, then.” 

He knows that the slow build is part of it. But it’s that wait that makes him anxious, leaves him with more tense knots that Sylvain has to ease out of him with each second that passes. It should be something like meditation, where he empties his mind and allows a sense of calm to wash over him, and yet something about this—about  _ Sylvain _ leaves him unable to let go so easily. 

Sylvain’s lips trail down his arm. Felix is opening his mouth, all but prepared to snap again, when Sylvain utters, “Deep breath.”

Without so much as thinking, Felix sucks in air and holds it in his chest. A few beats later, Sylvain’s fingertips and Felix’s eyes follow. Orange-yellow flames light those same digits, as they hover right above a point on Felix’s abdomen—where Sylvain had started his swirling, meaningless path. Felix feels his heart beat twice before Sylvain touches down, and that invisible outline is lit aflame. 

It lasts only a second. Intense heat whites his mind into nothing and he forgets to breathe out, and then it’s extinguished, leaving his breath shaking when he finally exhales. Excitement vibrates in Felix’s veins, his color flushed with the taste of controlled danger. He breathes out, “Again,” before Sylvain can ask anything; Sylvain complies easily, the smug amusement in his voice going without Felix’s reprimand. 

The pattern is easy once he sinks into it. Sylvain works him up, achingly slow, forcing all his senses into a state of hyper focus; even the lightest brush of Sylvain’s breath makes Felix shudder and grip at the sheets beneath him. Each thought is pinpointed on Sylvain’s touch and the designs he draws across Felix’s body, and anticipation floods him as he waits for the fire spell to sear his flesh again. 

It’s the headiest rush he’s ever had, splayed out like this. 

The fire itself burns bright and hot, and yet he finds himself all but hypnotized by the way they rise in a second and wisped away in another, before he can even manage to hiss at the flash of what  _ should _ be pain. That’s the part that gets him the most; it doesn’t hurt, not like he thinks it  _ should _ , not in the way his body prepares him for each time. Sylvain manipulates that tension in ways that make Felix stare at him in a daze—Sylvain only grins, running a hand through Felix’s pulled-back hair before he bears down, nibbling at Felix’s throat; his hands are warm as he idly strokes the inside of Felix’s thigh.

He’s consuming, pulling Felix apart bit by bit until the Felix’s cries are caught in pleasure—not surprise or frustration. Sylvain ups the intensity at his own leisure, ramping Felix up in steady deliberation; Felix is hard but untouched by the time Sylvain reaches the limit of what anyone should take, but he keeps Felix at that peak for longer than Felix expects. It keeps him worked up, ready for the next degree of high; for the next to be the one that pushes him over. 

Sylvain lights a single fingertip and presses it to Felix’s inner thigh, holding it longer than he’s allowed the flames to stay before. It’s only a few seconds, but Felix feels it all with extreme detail: a growing warmth that builds and builds, scrambling the panicked nerves under his skin that scream  _ danger.  _ He moans, clawing at the sheets as the feeling grows brighter, enough to almost burn. His breath stays caught, his lips parted, his eyes closed, his back arched. 

His cock twitches. Sylvain pulls away before the magic leaves a mark. Felix falls back against the bed, trembling and panting; he hears himself urging for more, again,  _ hotter _ , but Sylvain silences him with a tongue sliding between Felix’s lips. He slots their bodies together, pulling Felix into his arms, bare skin against soft lounge pants. Felix hardly takes note of how his cock is left unattended, yet he doesn’t mind even so—he feels scrambled, somehow, in a way far too pleasant, as his mind tries with only half intent to breach the surface instead of floating underwater. 

“See?” Sylvain hums close to his ear; Felix shudders at that, too, though he doesn’t have the space to process why. “Feels better than taking it all out on some poor wooden dummy, doesn’t it?”

Felix isn’t sure he agrees with that, really. Still, he can only mumble something that only barely classifies as an attempt at words. Sylvain doesn’t call him out on it, but takes it as an agreement anyway.

“Let’s do this more often, Felix,” he says, using that sometimes-genuine tone of his, “I’ll ask you again when you’re actually back down.”

Felix doesn’t know what he means by that, really, but he doesn’t dwell on it, either; instead, he sinks back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling as Sylvain kisses praises into his skin and runs his fingers through Felix’s hair, indulging in the strangely overwhelming feeling of suddenly being cold. He manages to mumble it, thoughtlessly, as he shifts against Sylvain.

Without missing a beat, Sylvain pulls the blanket around them both and fixes that, too, while Felix tries to remember why he was feeling stressed in the first place.


End file.
